Drinking with the Weasleys
by SaintRidley
Summary: Fred and George go out for a birthday drink. I have a feeling you'll find something interesting about it, though. Characters owned by J.K. Rowling.


_Drinking with the Weasleys_

"It's birthday time, mate. We should get out and have a drink, at the very least, to celebrate," George chided, wriggling his eyebrows at Fred as he closed the door to the shop. Diagon Alley looked abandoned in the night, as if it were a mere ghost town.

"I suppose. You know I'm not the fondest of alcohol, though," Fred replied. "But I guess we might as well. Where are we going?"

"I've got a Muggle pub in mind, actually."

"Sounds absolutely spiffing to me," Fred answered, though there still lingered the question of exactly where they would be going.

They Apparated together, disappearing from outside Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes with a tiny pop. Moments later they reappeared in a small and forgotten alley in Glastonbury, not far from a pub called The George and Pilgrim.

"Egotistical, that. Pub with your name on its sign... Could have at least warned a bloke," Fred joked, putting on a hurt expression.

"Sorry, sorry. I swear I won't do it again. This year, anyway," George laughed a little at Fred's expression as it changed to one of consternation and then slight annoyance. "You can pick where we go next year."

"Lovely. I'll see what I can't do about finding one called The Fried Fred or something, then." There was a shared smile at this as the two entered the pub and made a beeline to the bar. The barman came over a few seconds later, appraising the two.

"We'll just have a pint of your finest each," George said, jauntily throwing down a fifty pound note. "And keep refilling until that won't cover it anymore."

"When did you get the Muggle money?" Fred hissed while the barman filled glasses.

"A while ago, actually. Can't quite remember, to be honest."

The barman returned then, putting a frothy pint in front of each man. "Ye've got about eight more each, yeh hear me? Should I arrange a ride home for the two of yeh?"

"We've already taken care of our transportation situation, but thanks. To another year, eh, Fred?" George asked, raising his glass.

"Yeah. I reckon that's a good thought to drink to," Fred answered, downing a good amount of drink after raising his own glass. "Hey, got a question. Do you remember the first thing you said after you lost your ear?"

"I think I said something about being saint-like because I was holey. I was in too much pain to remember clearly, though."

"Shite," Fred replied, looking down into his half-empty pint glass. "Thought I'd find out exactly what sort of thoughts you were having then."

"I'd imagine something along the lines of revenge on Death Eaters," George mused as he finished his glass. "Now hurry up with that so we can get round two."

The two drank companionably for the next couple of hours, chatting about this and that. George was stunned by the fact that Fred had heard through the grapevine that the escape from Hogwarts was still talked about reverently by the students there. He had always known it would remain a crowning moment in the history of the school, but the fact that it had achieved such legendary status still mystified him a bit.

* * *

It was well past midnight by the time the Weasleys left the pub – having had an additional three rounds each after their initial purchase. Slightly tipsy, but assured against hangovers thanks to some of their own patented products, the two stumbled back to the alley from which they had come.

"Ten galleons say Angie has a litter of kittens when we get back," George managed to say, jingling his coin pouch to prove he meant it.

"I'll take that bet. She's usually asleep and out cold by half-ten. No way she's up at all. We'll shake on it?"

"It's your money, and if you just want to give it away like that I'll shake your hand every time, Freddie boy," George replied, extending his hand.

"Corking. You'll regret this bet. She doesn't change her routine for anything."

"Right. And she's also the Queen of England. As she's a witch and not the Queen, you'll be wrong."

With that, they clapped each other on the shoulder and Apparated, albeit in a clumsy fashion.

* * *

They arrived at the shop and quietly climbed up the stairs toward the flat, slowly opening the door to avoid noise. However, there was one problem with their strategy. She had black hair, dark skin, and eyes focused like headlights. She was sitting on the sofa, watching the door and waiting.

"Where the bloody hell do you two think you've been?" She asked, her voice a deathly low whisper.

"Just out for a drink," George supplied quickly. He wanted to head off any trouble he could and possibly recover her reaction enough to not lose his ten galleons. "Not a big deal."

"Well, it's a big deal to me. You two look absolutely pissed. I know you retain coherence, but you don't even look fit to stand. And you," she said, narrowing her eyes at Fred. "What have I told you before?"

"Not to get sloshed to the point of being unable to walk properly. I tell you it was his idea, though."

"But you just went ahead and did it anyway. George, wipe that grin off your face. Whatever stupid bet you just won with him is going to me, not you. Got it?" Her eyes narrowed, and her hands went to her hips as she rose from the sofa to stand over them both.

"Yes," they both responded as if they were one unit.

"Good. George, I'll talk to you later. Fred, go make sure your sister is asleep. She's the one who came to me to let me know you two were gone.

"She should have been asleep. She's only ten!" Fred exclaimed.

"She's still your little sister, and she was worried. And I'm still your mother. Your being nineteen does not mean that you aren't still subject to my rules. Go make sure she's still asleep, and if she isn't, make sure she gets back to sleep. Tomorrow morning you can scrub the shop the Muggle way."

"Yes, mum," he grumbled, stalking off toward Roxanne's room to check on her. He loved her dearly, but she could be such a pain sometimes that he would wonder why his parents had seen fit to curse him with her. Angelina watched him go before rounding on her husband, whose ear reddened visibly.

"You." It was not a demand, question, or really anything George could determine. It was merely a simple statement of a pronoun that happened to refer to him. But the way she said it sent shivers down his spine as he awaited the next tongue lashing. "Taking our son out for a late night drink without bothering to check with me?"

"He's overage, Angie. Two blokes ought to be able to get out for a night," George protested. He knew his reason was flimsy. There wasn't much he could do. "You women drive us barmy sometimes."

"Still, you should check with me so I don't worry. And I'll just ignore that last comment. To the bedroom with you," she replied, a steely glint in her eye.

"Yes'm."

"You will be punished, of course."

George's eyes lit up. "Really? I love you, dear."

Angelina laughed. "You get to scrub the bath the Muggle way."

The smile fell from George's face. Punishment and punishment meant two different things to Angelina, and he could never tell when it would be one or the other. He really hoped he'd be able to figure it out someday.

"And then later you can have some extra punishment," she added, a crooked smile playing on her face.

George smiled. Things were looking up.


End file.
